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آرشیو پست ها
a little more alive
A.R.ABDULLAH
I woke with the window wide,
the morning poured itself inside,
and for a second I was nothing
but a body full of sky.
There was water in my eyes,
but I couldn't call it crying,
I think the heart has little rivers
that it runs without deciding.
And oh, I don't know why
the sunlight makes me sad,
how the brightest things can break you
just by showing what you have.
I've been learning how to lose
without becoming lost,
how to love a thing completely
without asking what it costs.
I've been growing around grief,
like a tree around a wire,
with the dead beneath my branches
and the leaves reaching higher.
And I,
I want to be here.
I want to be here.
Even when the evening
puts its blue hand on my ear.
I want the ache,
I want the bloom,
I want the little patch of sunlight
on the bedroom floor at noon.
I want the laugh that comes too late,
the tears that come too soon,
the sound of somebody washing dishes
in the other room.
I want the years that change my face,
the hands that change with mine,
the crooked little constellation
of mistakes I leave behind.
Let me be a little broken,
let me be a little bright,
let me carry all my shadows
like a lantern through the night.
'Cause maybe being alive
isn't feeling good all the time,
maybe it's finding something golden
in the middle of the decline.
Maybe joy is not a doorway,
maybe joy is just a thread,
and you find it in the sunlight
on the pillow by your head.
Maybe love is not forever,
maybe forever isn't love,
maybe it's the way you keep on reaching
when you've had enough.
And if I disappear someday
into the dust and dandelions,
let the earth say, he was here,
let the rain remember my name.
Let my little piece of sunlight
keep somebody warm at night,
let my sorrow feed the roses,
let my leaving leave some light.
Because I was here,
with a heart like weather,
with a mouth full of questions,
with two hands learning better.
I was here
when the world was unbearable,
I was here
when the world was beautiful.
And somewhere between
the breaking and the becoming,
between the crying and the singing,
between the leaving and the loving,
I felt it,
that impossible, nameless feeling:
not happiness,
not hope,
not peace
just the strange, aching wonder
of being
a little more alive.
Something that remembers Being alive
A.R.ABDULLAH
I think I was born in the afterglow,
where the old houses hum and the lost rivers go,
where the moon hangs low like a bruise in the blue,
and every dead star still remembers you.
I was small then,
small enough to believe
that the cracks in the ceiling were places to leave,
that the night wasn't night, but a blanket pulled tight,
and the dark was just heaven
with nowhere for light.
I had dreams in my pockets,
all wrinkled and warm,
little paper-winged creatures afraid of the storm.
I carried them everywhere, I carried them far,
past the rusted-out swings
and the backs of the cars.
And God, I remember
the smell of the rain,
the impossible summer,
the sweet little pain
of knowing that something was ending each day
without knowing what ending
was taking away.
We grew like weeds through the cracks of the years,
with our mouths full of laughter, our eyes full of fears.
We learned how to smile when the smiling felt wrong,
how to call ourselves weak when we'd carried so long.
And somewhere between
the child and the scar,
I stopped asking heaven
why heaven was far.
I became what I feared:
not broken, but changed,
a house rearranged
by a tenantless flame.
The rooms were still there,
but the windows looked strange,
and the boy in the mirror
had forgotten my name.
Still,
there are nights when the past comes back barefoot,
with mud on its ankles and stars in its hair,
and sits at the foot of my bed without speaking
as if it had always been there.
And I almost believe it.
I almost go home.
I almost hear voices
through walls of old stone.
I almost feel sunlight
on bicycles, knees,
and the world before sorrow
had learned how to breathe.
But morning arrives
with its merciless gold,
and the dreams that looked endless
grow suddenly old.
The years don't explode,
they quietly pass,
like trains in the distance
behind sheets of glass.
So what am I now?
Not the child I was.
Not the dream I abandoned.
Not the person because
I have spent half my life
trying to become.
I'm something unfinished,
something becoming,
a heart still drumming
though nobody's humming,
a mouth full of names
that the years took away,
a little more broken,
a little more brave.
And maybe that's growing:
to lose what you knew,
to grieve all the selves
you once thought would be you,
then gather their pieces,
their beautiful scars,
and sew them like constellations
back into your heart.
Because I am still here.
Still stupidly breathing.
Still dreaming of places
I've never been seeing.
Still carrying summers
that died long ago,
still loving the people
I had to let go.
And if someday
I become only dust,
let me be dust that remembers the sun.
Let me be ash with a pulse in its chest,
a ghost of a boy
who kept trying his best.
Let the wind take my name
where the wildflowers grow.
Let it scatter the things
I was too scared to show.
Let some stranger walk past
on an ordinary day
and feel, for no reason,
that somebody once stayed.
Somebody once dreamed.
Somebody once cried.
Somebody grew older
without knowing why.
Somebody loved this world
though the world could be cruel.
Somebody was frightened.
Somebody was beautiful.
Somebody was me,
and somehow, somehow,
I'm still becoming
the thing I was dreaming
I would be.
Repost from N/a
To be reborn
I am the love I give
Not the love I receive
I am the scar that bleeds
Not which scar is hidden
I am the flower that blooms
Not which grief was buried in shame
The broken bones that turn to wings
Not into aches that beg for names
If the world will always take
And call its hunger fate
Then let my hands remain undone
By all they could not create
Let silence carve me into truth
Let absence make me whole
For I was never built from love...
But from the ruins
That refused
To lose their soul
By Harvey
I started writing when i made it
I started making new friends with the coolest people
And so much more happend since
